


Not What You Want

by ninhursag



Series: Possessive Charms [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Feral Behavior, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Leonard Snart Lives, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sex Pollen, Trauma, implied comfort, trauma response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-21 16:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Sex and rage pollen in a fragmented time line.Sara tries to rescue Leonard but when she's infected, he might need rescuing from her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: 
> 
> Violent killing, likely in self defense
> 
> Threats of non con that may be triggering to some. 
> 
> Feral Sara Lance
> 
> Traumatized Leonard Snart
> 
> Traumatized Sara Lance
> 
> People being driven by drug induced rage/lust combined with trauma response

This pocket timeline was just. It was. Sara thought it was...

“This is ridiculous,” Leonard said, from behind the bars of the cage he was locked in. Yeah. That one.

He looked ridiculous, in flimsy, too tight clothes made of filmy silver cloth. It did bring out the blue of his eyes. “This is 30’s pulp novel ridiculous. Or Mad Max.”

Sara was breathing too hard to answer that one, but it was true. More Mad Max with the howling multitudes baying for blood.

At least she wasn't wearing a chainmail bikini, that shit looked like it would give the world's most painful wedgies. The leather outfit they'd given her was practical enough.

“Who's next?” She said when she caught her breathe enough to say anything. She raised her sword in challenge and looked around the circle of people surrounding them.

The pile of people who had accepted the challenge already and weren't walking away from it lay to the side. Three so far.

“Come on,” Leonard said, not really to her, since she'd let him out if she could. Probably. He rattled the bars of the cage holding him hard. “Let me out and I'll take you bastards on.”

A six foot six woman carrying a nasty, curved looking blade stepped forward. “I'll fight you, little assassin,” she said. “I promise you won't even die when you lose to me.” She licked her lips and smiled. “I'll have a lot of fun with you and your thief.”

Sara rolled her eyes. Sword at ready. She didn't need to speak.

Leonard in the cage laughed. “You might have the bigger sword but I'm betting she knows how to use it,” he taunted. 

They moved. One, two, blades engaged. Fall back. Sara barely noticed the slash on her shoulder until the warm blood trickled down. She tugged her own sword out of the woman's gut. The smell hit her.

Her arms were getting heavier, leaden. There were more of them, a lot more, laughing, weighing their chances. She looked back at Leonard and he frowned, meeting her eyes. The cut began to sting.

It was her fault he was here. She'd been the one who wanted the device stolen right away. He'd told her he needed more time to case the defenses and safeguards.

He told her the risks and went in anyway on her word. He'd gotten caught on her word. And he was even acting like he was ok with it. That was the breaks.“You can walk away, Sara,” he said. “You're not in a cage. Come back with back up. I'll wait.”

“You'll be dead by then.”

“Punishment for theft is losing a hand not death,” he replied with a studied casual drawl. His hands, long fingered and graceful, were wound tight, knuckles white. “And we can fix that.”

“That's not all they want to do to you.” She looked up and down at the clothes they put him in. A little too tight, too exposed. Showing skin he wouldn't, a tattoo on his arm, snaking over scars. Showing a bruise on his neck in the shape of someone's fingers. She'd come in time to see that part, hands around his neck. 

He shrugged again, loosely and met her gaze. There was a wrinkle between his eyes. They were bright, too blue. “That's not actually a fate worse than death. We both have enough experience to know that much.”

She smiled at him. “You said it. We're in a 30’s pulp novel. I'm going to protect your honor.”

He frowned. “That would be great but I don't actually have any. Sara.” His fingers tightened on the bars. “You can't keep fighting them. They're going to kill you and we don't exactly have a spare Lazarus pit hanging around to bring you back.”

There was a banging sound, metal on metal. Metal on broken pavement. Laughter. A man's this time. “Turn around, pretty love bird. If you don't listen to him and fly away we're going to gut you and then we'll still do whatever we want to with your crook over your dead body.”

She turned around. Bared her teeth and spat blood. Her vision hazed red and she could hear a growl without fully realizing it was coming from her own mouth.

This time there's not just one. Apparently they're tired of being picked off. At least six, banging their weapons and sniggering. Leonard hissed, “Sara.” She could hear the bars squeal under the force of his grip.

“He's mine,” she said, feeling the growl rising again. 

There's another peal of laughter and a woman in the crowd winks and snickers. A weirdly familiar redheaded woman dressed in green and behind her she heard Leonard's voice hiss, “Shit, it's Mad Max Poison Ivy. Sara.”

Right one of the Gotham crazies. Yay.

This was ridiculous. The woman had a dart gun.

And there was a faint stinging sensation where the dart hit. And crazy redhead laughed.

The red haze deepened. She felt hot and shaky and very far away from everyone and everything. And that .. that made her so angry.

And then she saw the red haired woman had crept behind her. A key in her hand, in the lock holding the cage closed. “You better run, Leonard Snart. She'll feel bad about this later but it won't save you now.”

The woman touched him. On the cheek. He froze. Cold. Frozen. There was a joke in that. The haze around her brain didn't let Sara remember.

“I'll take my chances,” he said 

The woman touched him again and whispered something and he flinched. That was not-- he shouldn't flinch.

Sara growled, low and deep. The woman laughed and ran and laughed. She was fast, running, but she took her hands off of what was Sara's to do that.

Sara's hands were tight on her sword hilt and she smelled blood and death. Blood on her shoulder. Death on the ground.

There was a man in a cage and he was alive. The only thing that was here now. She knew him. Tall and handsome with close cropped hair and clear blue eyes.

She knew him. He stepped out of the cage with slow deliberate motions and said, “Hey, Sara. You still in there?”

She growled again and took a few quick running steps. He jumped back.

“I was fighting for you,” she said, low and deep. Close now, close enough to smell his sweat. He was tall, but she'd taken out taller. Stronger. There was exhaustion in the lines of him, the bruises under his eyes.

She could see it in his blue blue eyes that he knew that. Animal fear, eyes darting around, looking for a weapon. There were plenty, discarded and ready. She could break his neck before he got to one. 

“You did fight for me. Be a shame to waste all that effort and kill me now,” he drawled, low and nasal. He didn't move. There was a tremor in his body, but it didn't reach his face or hands.

She smiled. Red haze around the edges. Her bloody hand reached out and touched the black and green bruise on his cheek. She could see the sticky red traces of it. Over where that woman had touched his face.

He flinched. Hard. “Don't,” he said. Soft and sharp. She'd kissed him before, she remembered that, the memory far away, almost unreachable. Kissed him and ran and left him to die.

But here he was. Not dead anymore. His skin was warm.

“I fought for you and won,” she told him, low and rough. She reached out again, touching the long line of his throat, the handprint shaped bruise where someone else had grasped him. Feeling him swallow under her fingertips. A little pressure right there and he'd be gone.

If he fought her she could… she could see the knowledge in his eyes. Fear. Visible and strong.

He blinked and the fear was buried, the flinch from her touch was smaller this time. His hands were balled into fists, at his sides. He didn't fight.

His throat tipped back, more exposed than before. She ran her left hand over it. Sticky, tacky blood. She raised the sword with her right hand. Let it press not quite into the skin of his neck. 

He went so still.

She kissed the pulse point on his throat, feeling the throbbing of it.

“You won't like this, later.” Cool and factual. “It's going to bother you. You're going to be impossible to deal with.”

She laughed. Nothing bothered her, she felt clear and strong and angry, the red haze cleaning out everything else. No guilt, no worries.

She'd fought for him and won. “But aren't you mine? Why would taking what's mine bother me?” She couldn't remember. She remembered kissing him. Losing him. Getting him back. 

She could feel him swallow. Taste sweat. Up closer, closer the pressure of arousal. Someone's sex. Her skin was blood tacky and she was wet.

She let her blade slip lower, carefully, deliberately, not quite grazing skin but catching in cloth. The flimsy cloth of his shirt. It sliced easily.

He gasped. “Not like you mean. Sara. Don't. You don't want to do this. This isn't you.” 

There were hand shaped bruises on his skin. Under the shirt. She pressed her left hand over them, hard. His shuddered. Arousal. Fear. Arousal. Shame.

So many scars, so much ruined skin, that would never heal. A constellation of stars, tattooed over them, making a pattern. 

“I feel like me,” she told him. His eyes were unfocused and he shook his head. “Don't you want to be mine?” 

Something. He shook his head. 

She didn't need to listen. He stank of want. She could just… the haze in her brain told her he was hers. He wasn't fighting.

She took a step back, away, just to see.

He collapsed in on himself, like the strings had been cut. He wasn't a small man, but he tried to be. Knees to his chest. Shirt pulled tight around himself. Breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, slowly.

She knelt down next to him. She was shaking too. She wanted… she had to… she didn't want to… “There's something wrong with me, Len,” she whispered. “I really really want to hurt something and you're the only one here.”

He raised his head and looked back at her. “Sounds thrilling. How about you don't?” 

She nodded. Took another step back. He pushed up carefully to his feet, eyes never leaving hers. 

It was her turn to take those deep, even breaths. 

The haze felt closer. Hard to think. She could smell him. He was right there. Why couldn't she just reach out and take what was hers?

He was ready for the attack this time. Faster than she expected. Solid knee, hard and slamming into the soft part of her gut before she got close enough to touch, hard enough to knock the sword out of her hand. Followed by a fist to her face, one two, quick and dirty.

He was strong and fast. Made it hurt. Made her bleed.

He wasn't trained like she was. But he had weight and reach and experience. He'd fought dirty, for years, many more than her.

It wasn't enough. 

They both dove for the sword and he was the one who ended up with a blade to his throat.

His eyes squeezed shut. She grinned at him, bloody from his knuckles. 

“See, you can fight for your honor too.” She laughed.

“I told you, I don't have any. I'm fighting for yours,” he whispered. “Sara. This isn't what you want.”

She kissed him and he trembled. Soft and wet and almost gentle. The taste of blood was so satisfying. Slick skin.

He whimpered and kissed back, soft like an exhale. Harder. 

He pulled back when she gave him the space to.

“Sara, this isn't who you are. Sara. Listen. This isn't what you want. You're a hero, don't let this make you something else. Sara.” 

She pressed the blade against his throat just hard enough to split skin. A line of blood. That stopped the words.

He went still again, animal in a trap still, eyes clouded and distant. She kissed him again, but no response. He let her, open and easy, but no response.

“Leonard,” she coaxed. Blade leaving a long line of red on him. Not deep enough to scar. She couldn't decide if she wanted to.

He swallowed and stared at her, glassy eyed. The red haze in her brain parted. 

She blinked back a sense memory. Not him. Her. A dark, swaying ship around her.

Hands. 

A cage.

Someone screaming in the dark. A man begging for help?

A different man with a calm voice and relentless hands. Ivo?

She blinked again and she was here. It wasn't dark, they were in the open. The ground under their feet, not a ship. The cage was open. Leonard.

Blue, empty eyes met hers without seeing. He was focused on a different nightmare, not here.

He didn't say anything. Wherever he was, words hadn't helped him.

When she tried to touch him again, he jumped. Eyes still glazed, seeing something else. He fought, hard but not well, like an untrained kid. Not like himself.

Not like her.

He fought but not to win. She shoved him back and back and back. Into the cage.

And slammed the door of it hard. Sent him sprawling into the dirt. The lock was warped, but she didn't try to close it on him. She wasn't trying to keep him in.

She ran.

She ran far and fast and away, not straight, not making it easy to retrace her path when the haze came back. When she wanted to find him again.

She ran from the look in his eyes, the smell of his skin.

Ran until she collapsed. It got dark and she shook in the dark. Cold and shaking.

It got light. She was thirsty.

She was covered in blood and sweat. She'd left it on Leonard's skin, handprints of it.

The sun was up.

She heard footsteps. Cracking branches. Not subtle.

Leonard was still such a city boy. She smiled.

He looked better. The bruises were colored purple and green and his skin was sallow but he didn't look like there was no one home behind his eyes anymore.

He had on Mick Rory's military jacket over his torn clothes, all the buttons done up, even the ones at the wrists. His cold gun was buckled to his thigh.

He looked better. All buttoned up. Comfortable.

Mick himself was a step behind him, quiet but close, and Sara breathed out, shoulders relaxing slowly. Safe now. She could probably take down Mick, but not both of them at once. Mick wouldn't pull his punches either. Wouldn't let her do harm.

“How are you doing? Gideon can cook up an antidote if you still have it in your system.” Leonard said, easy and casual. 

She shook her head. “I'm pretty sure I'm me again.” She met his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

He blinked and shrugged uncomfortably. “I'm not burned up about it,” he muttered. 

Mick rolled his eyes. “That's great, boss. But this little screwed up timeline is about to collapse, so can we get out of here?”

Leonard frowned. Sara started up, groaning a little at how stiff she was, and he frowned at her. Offered his hand slowly. 

She took it, deliberately. Neither of them shook when he pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you,” he said. 

She stared at him, the bruises and dirt on him. “For what?”

“Protecting my honor,” he said. There was a familiar lopsided smirk. His eyes shone with something that could have been amusement.

She just shook her head. “Someone has to.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story really needed the sex scene it was missing. Here you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: mild power play
> 
> Undernegotiated everything

He came to see her on the waverider after Gideon gave her the all clear. 

Deck of cards and a bottle of Jack tucked under his arm. He was dressed like himself again, no more skin than a cloistered monk would be ok to show, but his jeans hugged his ass a little too well and he walked like he knew it. 

He still had on Mick's jacket, but unbuttoned, and only a clean cotton Henley underneath.

She nodded at him and he settled down on a chair and dealt cards. His hands were smooth as ever. Long, graceful fingers.

There were still livid bruises on his face and likely on his body. He never let Gideon fix more than what had to be before the next fight.

She poured them shots.

They had three rounds before he said anything that wasn't causal shit shooting. Before she did.

“I'm sorry,” she said. Finally. She had to.

He shrugged and looked away. “You didn't wake up planning to jump me, Sara.”

“I pushed the timetable of the job and you got caught. I hurt you.”

“It was my job. I got myself caught. And you really didn't hurt me. You could have, but you weren't out for that.”

She swallowed. “You fought me.” He had the marks of it so visible on his skin.

He rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to do? Roll over and let you get raped by a stupid lust drug?” He looked annoyed, insulted. Not scared.

She blinked. Stared at him. “I'm not the one who would have been raped, Leonard.”

He shook his head. “I was the one who knew what was happening to us. I was the one who--” He stopped and shook his head and smiled incongruously. “It doesn't matter. It didn't happen. This conversation is going to go in so many circles it will be pointless.”

Sara smiled back and rolled her eyes. “Very punny. How about, it wouldn't have been anything I didn't already want. Maybe not quite like that, but putting you in a cage so I'm the one deciding whether or not I'm going to have any mercy on you is not unappealing.”

He shrugged. His fingers tapped restlessly on his knees. “I'm pretty sure putting me in a cage and having me at your mercy is a fantasy you share with more people in the Gem cities than you think.” He leaned forward. There was a tension in the set of his shoulders, the line between his eyes, that wasn't covered by showy casualness. “Definitely the police departments and quite a few members of the Santini and Darbyinian families, just to start. But I hardly think I would enjoy myself if they had their way.”

Sara nodded. She leaned in herself. Close enough to feel the warmth of the skin of his hands. “See that's the thing. I want you to enjoy yourself, Leonard. I would have mercy. If you wanted it. If you trusted me.”

He didn't withdraw his hand. He opened the palm instead, letting her closer. She touched skin, gently, carefully. Warm, callused fingers and palms. 

“Ok. I wasn't sure, but ok. If that's where we're going you should know I don't like cages,” he said, carefully considering. She considered the furrow of his brow. “Unless I know where the key is.” 

She smiled. “And if you did? If you had it?”

A tilt of his head. The spark of something like amusement in his eyes. “Well. That could work.”

She leaned up and kissed him, just as carefully. It was different without the drug or imminent death. Without the smell of blood and fear and desperation. He tasted cleaner and cooler. He didn't let go of her hand.

Took what she gave him. Like he had all those months ago at the vanishing point right before…

No. He was here now. Not lost. She shuddered.

Kissed harder. She could feel his mouth smile and open up so easily. 

She'd wanted this for a long time, long past the point it was out of reach forever. He'd died. She'd died. They weren't supposed to be here.

Thief and assassin. Two cop's kids but from opposite sides of the tracks. Not heroes. 

His mouth tasted like mint and alcohol. He cupped his hands, long fingers touching carefully, around her chin. Shivered a little when her fingers brushed over bruises, bruises she probably put there.

But not in a bad way.

She pressed her thumb against one a little harder, watched his face as she did it, the way his lips parted just a little, his eyes darkened. 

“You like that?” She whispered.

“Sure.” His smile was smug, like he wasn't breathing so hard she could hear it. He leaned in closer, lips brushed against her ear, warm and dry. “Come on, Sara.” 

It was a little like fighting, but they were more evenly matched. Hand to hand. The brush of tongue on earlobe.

A sharp press of knees, hands pushing them apart. He was hard, she could feel it. She pressed her knee down until he arched up under the pressure. Moaned when he licked and bit his way over her collar and throat. 

She'd held a sword to his throat and he'd fought. She didn't need to now, now he yielded so easily. This was power.

The muscle of his back felt so smooth and solid under his shirt and she held on tight, nails digging in.

They ended up screwing like teenagers in the back of a borrowed car, unzipped jeans and shoved down underwear. His mouth, that beautiful, bitten and bruised mouth, licking her open while her jeans hobbled her.

She found herself half dressed, still in her socks, underwear ripped, one leg of her jeans still on when she climbed up on him, straddling his thighs. Still shaking from having come on his tongue when she lowered herself on his dick. So oversensitive it was almost unbearable. His hands on her hips guided her down and the rough denim of the jeans she'd just unzipped rubbed her raw. He felt like too much. 

Blunt and thick and hers. In her, deep as she could take him. He made a low, breathy sound. The line of his back was so perfect, the cotton of his shirt clinging to it. Only his neck showed skin, bare and vulnerable. The shape of hands, red and black and green, covering what was visible.

“No wonder,” she mumbled into his neck, after, when everything felt warm and loose and his arms held her carefully.

“What?” He asked, and she could feel the shape of his smile without needing to see it.

“No wonder people keep trying to put you in cages. They probably just wanna keep you.” His hands went still on her skin but she couldn't stop the words. “Can I keep you? Don't die again. It's lonely.”

“I'll try not to,” he said, after what felt like a really long time. “If you don't.”

She nodded. Her eyelids were heavy. He had all his clothes on, but his jeans were still unzipped and she could press her palm against his soft cock, feel the twitch, the wince of flesh pushed to the limit. 

“I want to strip you naked, Leonard,” she said and yawned. “Can I?”

Another quiet moment. “Not yet.” His body shook and when she looked at him, his eyes were wide. Like she'd suggested something a thousand times more intimate than this.

She smiled. That wasn't a no.


End file.
